


The Winchester Boys and the Case of the Missing Brother

by Dram90



Series: Supernatural Not-a-fan Fic [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, Gay, Gay Sex, I'm Not Ashamed, Idiots, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Maybe a few, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, bad at solving mysteries, no regrets, sometimes the show is alright I guess, this show mostly sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dram90/pseuds/Dram90
Summary: It has been several weeks since Sam Winchester's girlfriend burned to death in a tragic fire.  Sam's brother, Dean, had shown up conveniently earlier that fateful day and, capitalizing on his brother's moment of weakness, made his move to whisk Sam away to a life of ghost and demon hunting (a trade taught to the brothers by their mentally ill father).  Failing their way across the country one town at a time, they've finally stumbled upon a promising lead in the small, sleepy town of Midway, Kentucky.  But none of the boys' training has prepared them for the evils that await them here.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural Not-a-fan Fic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843669
Kudos: 2





	The Winchester Boys and the Case of the Missing Brother

The newspaper rustled as Dean Winchester turned another page.

“That's the fourth missing cat ad I've seen today here in Midway,” he remarked in his usual anodyne monotone, “we might have ourselves a little situation.”

Across the table, Sam regarded his brother with silent loathing. Dean's dull eyes listed aimlessly over the newspaper, wandering inward and outward at random as he once again pantomimed the act of reading. He fiercely denied his illiteracy, and Sam didn't have the heart to confront him about it. Lucky for them, hunting down ghosts and demons rarely required even a rudimentary understanding of the alphabet. _And here in Midway, Kentucky, it's probably par for the course,_ Sam thought to himself.

Reluctantly, he reached out across the scuffed, ketchup-stained diner table and took the newspaper out of Dean's scuffed, ketchup-stained hands. A thick rope of spittle spilled out of the corner of Dean's mouth, which he wiped up as fast as his mongoloid reflexes allowed. Sam pretended not to notice, and instead looked at the newspaper.

“Dean, these are the **'For Sale'** ads,” Sam sighed, “and this is a dog.”

“Pff I know that,” Dean protested, crumbs spewing out of his mouth from one of the thirteen pieces of toast he had just eaten, “I just wanted to see if you knew. It was just a test, Sammy.” Dean smiled, reached over and patted Sam on the shoulder, accidentally knocking over the strawberry syrup container. Fortunately, Dean had already drank most of it, so it didn't make too much of a mess. Sam reached for the napkin dispenser to clean up the small pool of syrup forming, but found it empty.

“Dean, did you steal all of the napkins again?”

Dean sneezed and looked down at the table guiltily, “No...”

Sam sighed and looked back at the newspaper as an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

“Still,” Dean broke the silence, “three missing cats in one city? I think it's demons.”

Sam resisted the urge to strike his brother in the face and instead nodded, “I mean... I guess it could be.”

“It is!” Dean shouted loudly, several of the diner patrons turned to look at him with perplexed expressions, “Don't forget who got taught monster-hunting from their dad, while _SOMEONE_ was in their fancy college school!”

“Dad taught me too, Dean,” Sam whispered, exasperated, “let's keep our voices down. People are going to talk...”

“Let 'em talk, Sam! Let 'em all talk!” Dean stood and turned around to all of the customers, “You got something to say?? Or you just gonna gawk at us??”

Sam buried his head in his hands as the entire restaurant stared at Dean in naked disgust, “Dean...please...”

“Take a picture, it'll last longer!” Dean shouted to no one in particular, smiling to himself at how clever he was and how dumb everyone else was. A waitress brushed up against him as she tried to sneak past him with a tray of breakfast food and coffee. “Demon!” Dean slammed his elbow into her nose before he realized what was happening and the tray went flying, raining sunny side up eggs, sausage links, and coffee on all the nearby patrons. The waitress hit the ground with a sickening thud, covered her bloody, broken nose with her hands, and let out a muffled shriek.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean!” Sam exclaimed. Dean stood amid the sudden chaos with his mouth slightly agape and his eyes glazed over, regarding the scene dumbly and without comprehension. Sam bolted out of his booth and gripped his brother by the elbow, making a mad dash to the door before some of the huskier diner customers decided to exact retribution for the severely injured waitress.

“I'll drive!” Sam shouted as they neared Dean's black '67 Chevy Impala, Dean nodded his consent mid-sprint and threw the keys to Sam, which hit him in the eye. “FUCK! DEAN! **FUCK!** ”

Dean snatched the bloody keys off the ground, “On second thought, I'll drive!”

“You've never had a _first_ thought, you fucking cretin!” Sam shrieked while nursing his lacerated eye socket.

Dean stared at Sam, his eyes slowly wandering inward as he tried to process his brother's quip. His trance was broken by the sound of the diner doors crashing open. An angry mob of burly men marched out to the parking lot.

“There they are!” One of the mob shouted.

Dean sprang back into action, grabbing a handful of napkins from his pocket and throwing them towards the mob before ripping open the driver side door and slamming the key into the ignition. The engine fired up with a familiar growl which was accompanied by the blare of mundane rock'n'roll from the radio. The Impala roared as they peeled out of the diner parking lot. Dean let out a victorious whoop.

“That's what you get for messing with the Winchester boys!”

Rock music played.

After about fifteen minutes without any conversation, Dean got up the nerve to speak.

“I mean...that waitress was definitely a demon. I _know_ demons, okay? And she was one. So that's that, Sammy.”

Dean glanced over at his brother, who wasn't in the passenger seat. He looked behind him frantically, rechecked the passenger seat, and even opened the glove box. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh shit...”

More rock music played.

* * *

Back at his hotel room, Dean backed away from his corkboard and looked at it with a smug grin on his face. On the corkboard was a picture of Sam with a red thread of yarn connecting to a piece of paper with _“KIDNAPT BYE DEMINS”_ written on it in crayon.

“Yes, of course," he muttered to himself, "it all seems so simple now.”

While Dean was concerned over the obvious kidnapping of his brother by demons, he couldn't help but take a moment to be satisfied with how good of a job he did on the corkboard. Corkboard mystery solving had always been Sam's specialty.

“Look out, brother,” Dean said to himself with a smile, “there's a new corkboard mystery solver in town, and his name's Dan Winchester. I mean Dean Winchester.”

Dean nodded, satisfied with his line of dialogue. It would play well in middle America.

He continued to regard the corkboard and the gears began to turn in his head. Before too long Dean Winchester - master ghost hunter and corkboard mystery solver - would formulate a cunning, tactical plan to daringly rescue his beloved brother, and slay every demon between the heavens and earth who dared oppose him.

Seven hours later Dean turned away from the corkboard with a headache. He reached into his travel bag and pulled out a cylindrical container of Morton's Sea Salt. He hefted the container, dismayed.

“Aw heck,” he sighed, “almost empty.”

Dean couldn't possibly hope to engage in battle with nightmarish hell creatures - from a realm so ineffably horrifying and torturous that it would defy any and all explanation by mere man - without at least _several_ more tablespoons of Morton's Sea Salt.

“Wait!” Dean's disappointed expression slowly transformed into a knowing smile, “I've got a plan...”

* * *

“That oughta do it.”

Dean backed away from his corkboard and looked at it with a smug grin on his face. A red thread of yarn connected the container of sea salt with the word _“EMPTEY”_.

“And now the real work begins.”

Rock music played.

* * *

The plan was simple enough. That is, if you're a genius like Dan Winchester. I mean Dean Winchester. Since all the grocery stores were closed at 4 am due to a demonic plot to keep Dean from buying more sea salt, he'd had to improvise. Fortunately for Dean (and Sam, who was about to be rescued heroically by his older brother), he always kept several slices of honey baked ham in his pockets underneath the napkins.

“And the thing about honey baked ham is,” Dean whispered to himself, grinning as he crouched behind a shrub, “it's got thirty-five percent of your daily value of sodium!”

Dean burst out from behind the bushes of the demonic diner, and charged into the parking lot with honey baked ham superglued to his gun. He roared a battle cry and started firing his weapon with wild abandon, because you don't have to worry about shooting an innocent when _everyone_ is a demon. That was the mystery, by the way. The mystery of everyone being demons. And Dean solved it. Using a corkboard. And honey baked ham.

Halfway across the parking lot, Dean tripped over a lump on the ground at full speed and sprawled face first into a stationary Honda Civic. His head bounced off the fender with a loud crash, but remained unharmed due to the extraordinary thickness of his skull. The Civic, however, was totaled. Dean regarded the wreckage of the vehicle with satisfaction and laid a slice of honey baked ham on it because it was probably a demon too. He turned around to see what had tripped him and found a Sam Winchester-shaped demon laying on the ground. It looked extraordinarily like his brother, except it was bloody, bruised, and covered with ectoplasm.

“Begone, vile creature,” Dean said as he leveled his ham gun at the foul beast.

“Dean? Is that you? It's me, Sam.” The hellish mimic stirred on the ground.

“Prove it.”

“I taught you the words 'begone' and 'vile' last week.”

“Sammy? Is it really you?”

Sam sighed, “Yes, Dean, it's me.”

“Sammy!” Dean ran towards the heap on the ground, blubbering and sniffling, and hugged him. Sam let out a pained grunt at his brother's embrace.

“Where the hell have you been, Dean?”

Dean released his tight grip on his brother, coming away smudged in blood and ectoplasm. “I've been solving the mystery of how demons kidnapped you, it was really hard.” He sniffled and rubbed his eyes, but brightened suddenly, “I did a corkboard!”

Sam rolled his eyes and patiently suppressed a snarl. “I'm very happy that you did a corkboard,” he said in an even, measured tone, “but I wasn't kidnapped by demons, Dean. You just drove off without me.”

“Wha? You were in the car, I thought...”

“No, Dean. My hand kept slipping off the handle because of all my eye blood, and you left me behind.”

“Maybe demons locked the door. Ever think of that?”

“Maybe, Dean.”

Dean scratched his head, “You're covered in ectoplasm, so there must have at least been ghosts involved... Why didn't you come back to the hotel?”

“Because I was savagely beaten and raped by the angry mob you created, Dean. That's not ectoplasm.”

Dean stared at Sam blankly for a time. Sam waited patiently for his learning disabled brother to come to the horrifying realization. Dean disgustedly wiped the “ectoplasm” off of his mouth and chin and quietly muttered, “Gay...” before following up with, “But it's been days...”

“Yeah, Dean, they broke my legs and arms so I couldn't escape, and after that they viciously raped me for three days. When one man was satisfied, another would start. They pretty much used me like their own personal pincushion, gleefully penetrating every hole they could find on my body. Then the police showed up and I thought, just for a moment, that the pain was at an end. But no, Dean, they raped me too. Just about every member of the Force piped me down while asking me questions like, 'Do you like that, you little slut? Do you like when daddy fills you up?' I didn't like it, Dean. Not one bit. But they sure did. They filled me right up, Dean. Filled me until I was bursting at the seams. But it didn't end there. Entire families began to show up to the diner for lunch after Sunday church service. They raped me too, Dean. Sons and daughters laughed and clapped as their fathers used me like an old cum rag. Even the mothers started getting in on it. They all reached into their purses and pulled out every cylindrical apparatus they could find and gleefully reamed me out with them. Fun fact, did you know that every woman in this town carries a fourteen inch dildo in their purse? Did you know that, Dean? And guess what, they even hosted a child's birthday party here yesterday. Little Billy McGillicutty turned eleven. What a joyous occasion. Want to guess who's ragged asshole was the primary entertainment for the big day, Dean? Guess! ... Give up yet? It was mine. My ragged asshole was the primary entertainment. And they were _all_ entertained, alright. They _entertained_ all over me; inside me, on my chest, on my face, there was no place they wouldn't _entertain_ , Dean. The raping seemed to go on forever, as though I was trapped in a bubble outside the fourth dimension where time stood still. But you know what, or rather who, didn't stand still, Dean? The rapists. The rapists never stood still. Unless they were waiting in line for their turn, of course. It got to the point that I just started flexing my rectum and throwing back into it in order to get them to ejaculate faster. When the ambulance finally arrived, I said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening. But do you think there were any gods listening, Dean? I'll tell you right now, there weren't. And if there were, all they were hearing was the sound of raped butt and mouth, because those were the only sounds to hear. The EMTs spit roasted me like a used up jizz pig, Dean. I'm basically this town's number one attraction now. Everybody wants to get a taste of Sam's sweet holes... And they did, Dean. They got a taste. Ten times over.”

...

A pregnant pause fell over the brothers. Insects chirred in the distance, an errant gust of wind sent a beer can clattering down the sidewalk in the distance. Dean stared uncomprehendingly into his brothers eyes.

“Do you think maybe it was demon-”

“NO, DEAN! I don't think it was demons! They were just fucking rednecks! Now could you please drag me to the car and drive me to a hospital?”

Dean nodded quickly and hoisted his sticky brother up over his shoulder and walked back towards the Impala.

“A hospital in a different state, by the way,” Sam added emphatically, “I'd like to spend just a single night not getting ripped open by Kentucky cock..."

The night fell silent again, punctuated only by the trudging of Dean's boots. Suddenly, Sam's face twisted into a sneer and he shouted, "You stole those napkins by the way, I saw you throw them at the mob earlier!”

“Nuh-uh, Sam! Those were napkins from a different time! You can't prove it!”

The dark parking lot, which had very recently been the locale for crimes most heinous, suddenly warmed with a sense of normalcy as the brothers engaged in their familiar petty squabbles. Just like that, another mystery was solved and - if you don't count the excessive rape - all was well in the world of the Winchesters...

For the moment, at least.

 _[rock music_ _plays]_


End file.
